


permit denied

by homovikings



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek Hale is a pervert, Established Relationship, Frottage, M/M, but who's surprised
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2017-11-01
Packaged: 2019-01-27 16:16:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12585744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/homovikings/pseuds/homovikings
Summary: Stiles went to Party City for green hair dye, he swears, but then he chanced a look at the discount rack and saw some ridiculously tight cop uniform and what was he supposed to do? Just ignore it?OR: Stiles is irresponsible with money and Derek is a big giant pervert.





	permit denied

**Author's Note:**

  * For [luciferswhiteloafers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/luciferswhiteloafers/gifts).



> hey hi so uh i got into teen wolf about six years? ago? and this is the first fic i've written for it and i entirely blame kathryn 
> 
> anyway this is written for you kathryn lmaoo if anyone else happens to enjoy it then i am glad <3
> 
> also before i forget, def insp. by https://twitter.com/JarettSays/status/394656918309847041

Scott picks up the phone and Stiles says, “So, I don’t have any change.”

“What?”

“I don’t have any change, dude.”

“But I gave you a $20 dollar bill! How expensive is green hair spray?”

Stiles stares at the bag sitting innocuously on the passenger seat of his Jeep, filled with more than green hair spray. “Listen,” he begins, “you’re my best friend, right?”

Scott groans. “ _Stiles_ , what did you get?”

“Scott! Scottie! I am _repulsed_ that you think —”

“— _Stiles_ —”

Stiles huffs — rather self-righteously, mind you, because Scott should think more highly of him even though, uh, Stiles _did_ spend Scott’s money irresponsibly (or responsibly, if you ask Stiles, and obviously his opinion is more important, here) — and says, “Fine. Fine! Ugh, god! There was this sexy police officer uniform on the discount rack —” Stiles ignores Scott’s high-pitched shriek, which he’s sure Scott will deny whole-heartedly, “— and I saw it and I was like, wow! That could be _gone_ in a matter of _minutes_ , and seeing as I forgot my debit card at home —”

Scott interrupts him, “I was gonna use that to buy Allison chocolate! Like, the really expensive, fancy kind!”

“Ghirardelli?”

“No?” Scott answers, confused, “Like, dark Hershey chocolate, or some Reese’s or something.”

Stiles tactfully refrains from commenting on how sad that is. “I’m sorry, dude, but I really need to get laid tonight and Derek has been _holding back_ , man, it’s been, like, _four days_ , and I’m sure you can steal some Halloween candy from your mom?”

Scott remains silent. Stiles counts that as a win.

“I have sacrificed so much for you,” Stiles says, “in the name of you getting laid, and getting laid well.”

“ _Stiles_.” Scott sighs and mumbles something Stiles doesn’t catch. “Fine. But only because four days is a _really_ long time and you’re my best friend and I can’t, in good conscience, stand in the way of sex.”

“I knew there was a reason I married you.”

Stiles can practically _hear_ Scott’s eye roll. “But,” Scott says, “this means you have to let me borrow your Wii, dude. Isaac’s never played Super Smash Bros Brawl and I promised him we’d spend Friday drinking wolfsbane punch and playing it.”

Kicking the Jeep into gear, Stiles tucks his phone between his ear and shoulder and rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah,” he mutters, “I guess I’ll just spend Friday _alone_ , on my _own_ , doing _solitary_ things —”

Scott interrupts him, “Shut up, dude. Derek’s gonna bone you on Friday and you know it. You’re not gonna miss anything.”

“Okay, true. Anyway, I’m hanging up now because I have to find some abandoned lot to pull into so I can put this skanky ass police uniform on.”

“ _Ugh_.” Despite sounding disgusted, Scott adds, “I hope you have many orgasms,” and then hangs up, because he’s Scott and he’s fucking _awesome_ and a great best friend, and Stiles hums and tosses his phone into the passenger seat. He glances at the bag and smiles. He is _so_ gonna get laid.

The thing is, though, Stiles didn’t really think of much apart from putting the costume _on_ — and it’s pretty, uh, tight, and leaves very little to the imagination and it’s no wonder that it was on clearance — so when he pulls up to Derek’s loft, he’s, like, a little lost on what, exactly, he’s going to say, but what the hell. He has a dick to get. In his ass. In case that wasn’t clear.

Stiles takes the steps two at a time, positive that Derek heard him coming but was waiting for Stiles’s tell-tale incessant rapping at the door. He plucks a wedgie idly, frowning at how tight the damn gold shorts are, and bounces on the balls of his feet as he waits for Derek to answer.

Derek had said he wasn’t doing anything for Halloween — he never _did_ , honestly, Stiles didn’t think he even bought candy for the few brave souls that dared venture forth to The Loft (capitalized, mind you, as it was known as a haunt throughout Beacon Hills) — but _still_ , maybe he was, like, taking Isaac trick-or-treating or something. Isaac liked that shit, right? He was always super excitable about the holidays, especially after Derek took him in, and Erica’s outward enthusiasm coupled with Boyd’s muted enthusiasm meant Isaac was literally, like, un-calm-downable whenever there was something fun to do for an Official Holiday. Last year all it took was Erica musing about group costume ideas for Isaac to practically fall off his chair at his jubilance at being _included_ , and that was such a cute fucking sight that Erica ( _and_ Boyd, that secret sap) went overboard including Isaac in a ton of fun Halloween things.

 _That_ makes Stiles think of what they’d dress up as this year — Grease, maybe? Boyd would make a fantastic Sandy — when Derek opens the door, his face contorted, pre-emptively, into faux-annoyance, when he catches sight of what the fuck Stiles is wearing.

“It,” Derek manages, staring at Stiles’s crotch.

“No,” Stiles replies emphatically. “I am a _cop_ , Derek Hale.” He wags his finger at Derek. “I am not Pennywise. Also, do not distract me, you are under _arrest_ , mister!”

It takes Derek a long, long time to drag his eyes from Stiles’s dick — which, under Derek’s intense gaze, starts to thicken — and he’s sure the pungent smell of arousal pollutes the air when Derek takes a deep breath and says, “Am I?”

“Yes.” Stiles steps forward, newly confident at how frazzled Derek appears, and places a hand on his chest. His mind whirs as he thinks of things to accuse Derek of — he really needs to get better at this thinking-ahead-of thing — and settles on, “See, you’re missing some legal documents.”

Derek huffs and leans forward, one hand moving to rest on Stiles’s hip, eyes burning wickedly. “Am. I,” he repeats, seemingly at a loss for words, and Stiles really, _really_ hopes there’s no noticeable flare of, like, pride, or anything, because he’s _really_ proud that he can reduce Derek to repetitive two-word responses, but he cuts his gloating time short by sliding both hands to Derek’s biceps in a firm grasp.  

“Yes. I have to arrest you.” Stiles steps closer, intoxicated by Derek’s intense stare, the heady smell of him, the way his hands leave blazing trails of fire as they slide down Stiles’s sides. “See, you’re — ah,” he breaks off, momentarily distracted when Derek’s hands slide lower, still, and take firm handfuls of his ass. “You’re — you don’t have permits. For those guns.” He squeezes Derek’s biceps meaningfully.

Derek freezes. For a second he hovers, his hands still on Stiles’s ass, and Stiles feels a bubble of laughter threatening to emerge when Derek sighs, all disappointment. “That’s it?”

“What?”

“That’s all you could come up with?”

“Dude,” Stiles pulls back, mock-offended. “I went to Party City for green hair dye and came back with _this_. I got naked in a _parking lot_. I was thinking of nothing else but your dick in my ass, excuse me for not coming up with some Fifty Shades of Grey level dirty talk —”

“You’re ridiculous,” Derek says, but his tone is so _fond_ that Stiles melts a little and he isn’t given a chance to respond before Derek tugs him inside and shuts the door, roughly pushing Stiles against it and assaulting his mouth with his own, his hands seeking, assured, _hot_. Stiles moans into Derek’s mouth, arching into his touch, and wraps both arms around Derek’s neck.

“Do you — _oh_ , yeah — do you like it?” Stiles asks, tilting his head so Derek can press lingering, open-mouthed kisses to his neck. Already his costume sticks to his skin and he knows that if he were to look at himself he’d have sweat stains, probably, but the thought doesn’t make him self-conscious but _horny_ because god he knows Derek would just shove his face into the stains and take a whiff, would suck at the fabric, would make Stiles fucking _keen_. Derek doesn’t answer, not verbally, at least, but nudges Stiles’s legs open with his knee and slots his thigh in-between, urging Stiles’s hips forward with a hand so Stiles is pretty much humping him.

Because he lives to be contrary, Derek says, “No, I hate it,” while tugging at the Velcro clasp at the nape of Stiles’s neck. His collar comes undone and Derek growls, fucking _growls_ — Stiles wonders, briefly, if there’s some legitimate paranormal reason for supernatural creatures being more feral on Halloween, because there was that one year, with the gnomes — and fucking _rips_ the cheap $14.99 fabric when he tugs it down Stiles’s chest.

“You asshole,” Stiles gasps, because he doesn’t know when to shut up and also because technically that wasn’t his money, but he can’t really argue further when Derek is leaving hot, wet kisses down his chest. Stiles tugs at the fine hairs at the nape of Derek’s neck, moaning filthily, rutting against Derek’s thigh, feeling his pleasure build with each thrust. He could come like that, easily, but he wants _more_. “Der,” he gasps, keening and arching his back when Derek latches onto one of his nipples, “I need —”

Derek doesn’t stop, though, just continues to lick at Stiles’s nipple until it’s hard, then he _sucks_ and nibbles and, god, _fuck_ , Stiles will never understand why the fuck his nipples are so sensitive but fuck it feels so good and he keeps rutting, gasping, twining his hands in Derek’s hair and pulling, and all it takes is Derek slipping one hand down his too-tight shorts and spreading his ass cheeks so he can rub one finger over his hole and Stiles shouts, jerking against him, coming in his costume and pulling Derek’s hair so tight he’s sure it hurts.

“Fuck, yeah,” Derek grunts, lowering his free hand to rub at his own cock. He frees it from his jeans and starts jerking off, burying his head in the crook of Stiles’s neck and inhaling, licking, biting, teasing. Stiles moans, grabs at Derek’s neck and lifts him so he can slot their mouths together, filthy and open-mouthed and full of saliva and clashing teeth and drool and then Derek’s coming in thick stripes on Stiles’s stomach, his eyes flashing red. Stiles keeps their faces close, licks at Derek’s canines, inhaling Derek’s heavy breaths until both of them are panting slowly, contentedly, against each other, until Derek drops his head against Stiles's shoulder, breathing heavily.

After what feels like forever, Stiles says, “Hey.”

Derek, his forehead pressed against the crook of Stiles’s neck, snorts. “Hi.”

It’s useless to pretend his heart isn’t beating in double time — Stiles _knows_ that Derek knows it isn’t post-sex heart-jumping but that damnable _love-dovey_ heart-jumping, something they haven’t yet articulated but also something they haven’t yet denied — so Stiles doesn’t pretend, just tugs at Derek’s hair until he lifts his head and Stiles can kiss him again, can kiss down his chin, to his ear, to his neck, until his lips rest along his pulse.  

“Trick-or-treat,” Stiles mumbles, smiling against Derek’s skin.

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/homovikings/)!


End file.
